Warning: This post contains graphic oversharing and TMI, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, you might want to mosey along...once you've read them the images will be burned into your retinas.
Mom told me a lot of crazy stuff in my lifetime (material for another post!) but there are sure a lot of things she never mentioned. I'd say it was pretty sneaky of her, but am sure she omitted sharing those things out of the kindness of her heart. She probably knew very well that telling me some of this stuff would just depress me to no end.
She sure never mentioned that one day while I was at the eye doctor, he'd say "Well, next time we better think about bifocals. You're getting to be that age, you know." That age!? I was only 40 at the time! Forty seems like being a kid now!
I got my first gray hair at 27. Fortunately, it was the only gray hair I had for a long time. Right smack in the middle of the crown of my head, too. Mom did tell me not to pull it out or three would grow in its place. I blithely did not believe that little bit of folklore. Besides, I colored my hair for thirty some odd years. What she failed to tell me was that I'd get gray hair in places I never thought about getting gray hair. Like my eyebrows or better yet down there. What a shock that was! Or that half of that hair would eventually disappear and the icy winds of autumn would make themselves known in the nether regions. What about that, huh, Mom?
Mom often said, "You eat too much!" as she served yet another coconut cream pie or German chocolate cake. But never mentioned that the day would come when I could no longer pig out like Jabba the Hut. Strangely, this happened to my husband and me at the same time. We like food, food shows, food networks, reality cooking contests, cookbooks, recipe websites, reading restaurant reviews, etc... I admit freely, we LIKE to eat. It's one of our few real vices. The irony of that is that he's skinny as a rail and I'm...not.
Since he's such an appreciative eater, I was always in the habit of fixing large meals and we'd generally eat 2 helpings each. We eat one meal mid-afternoon per day; there's no breakfast or lunch at our house (I know, I know!). But that one meal could easily feed four people. I really don't know how it happened, but about a year or so ago, it suddenly became apparent that one plate of food was more than either of us could comfortably manage. There are no elder issues going on with us that would prevent us from eating, like medications, teeth problems, or depression. We want to eat, we enjoy eating, we just don't have room. Too much at one time makes us miserable for the rest of the day. Makes going to an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant rather pointless.
On the plus side, a pot of spaghetti or chili lasts at least three or four days. And now we have a real freezer (as opposed to an RV one), so there's room for leftovers; we don't have to get bored eating the same thing day after day. Yes, I understand I could fix smaller portions but mentally, after a lifetime of cooking for two kids and now my husband, I just can't get there.
Here's the really annoying thing about all this...if I eat half of what I used to eat, why am I not losing any weight?! That's so unfair! Then again, I realize I'm not burning off those calories either, so I should be thankful I'm not 400 pounds. Okay, so I can only put away one normal size meal on a daily basis. However, I CAN still polish off an entire box of six fudgesicles in one sitting, without even trying. How can that be? Pretty sure that plays all kinds of havoc with my carb and sodium intake!
Babyboomer that I am, NO ONE ever told me that I would be extremely sorry one day that I laid out in the sun for hours, slathered with baby oil and iodine. NO ONE said, "One of these days you're going to have a giant age spot on your cheek the size of a quarter!" NO ONE said, "Even your arms, hands and legs will get age spots on them; you better keep out of the sun!" NO ONE said, "Your chest is going to look like some sort of topographical map of the Rockies one of these days if you don't stay out of the sun, dammit!" Yep. Thanks, NO ONE.
More hair issues: Mom, why didn't you tell me about the rogue hairs? No one ever told me that some day I'd have these solitary black, wires growing out of the weirdest places. Like the one by my knee. Or the one growing right out of the left side of my face. They feel like fiberglass splinters. Tweezers at the ready, I frequently peer into my 15X mirror on the hunt for those alien invaders. Or that some hair follicles lose their minds and forget what kind of hair they are...like reaching behind me to scratch the small of my back and discovering a five inch long fine, colorless filament. My kids didn't have hair that long till they were three years old! That sucker was long enough to wrap around my finger a few times! Out it came and I prayed that three didn't grow back in its place. I'd soon be a Yeti if that was the case.
Also, no one ever mentioned that your armpit hair would virtually disappear. Is that normal? Years ago I used to use one of those deodorants that are supposed to diminish hair growth and reduce shaving. It never seemed to work very well. I did like it purely as a deodorant though, and when I went to repurchase it, couldn't find it anywhere. Apparently discontinued...probably because it didn't work. But maybe it did, because now I only have about three armpit hairs per side! And they are nearly colorless. Or maybe they're gray! My eyesight is so bad I really have to get the old pit right up in the mirror to check to see if it's really worth swiping a razor over.
Many of us actually look forward to menopause. I did. I couldn't wait until I stopped having periods. No more cramps! No more tampons! No more pads! No muss, no fuss! No one told me that by the time I went through menopause, I'd develop a slight incontinence problem, as many older women do. Mom!! Why did you never mention that? Instead of having a highly anticipated freedom from Kotex, I promptly graduated right to Poise.
In retrospect, the timing on that tinkly little issue turned out to be perfect, because now I also have to control how much/what I drink daily since I'm up at least three times a night making my way to the bathroom. No more endless glasses of ice tea everyday, no sir. And that popular wisdom that says we should drink eight glasses of water a day? Fuggedaboudit. I do not want to be up every hour on the hour all night long.
And what the heck is up with all the crying? Growing up, Mom used to yell at me all the time because I was always bawling about something. I cry at the drop of a hat and always have. Soap opera weddings, airport arrivals and departures (even my own), you name it, I'd cry. I even cried at both my own weddings! Well, it's a hundred times worse now. And my poor husband, stoic son-of-a gun that he is, he's crying with me! That man never used to tear up over anything. The news comes on, and the next thing you know, we're passing each other the tissue. The 50th Downton Abbey marathon and it's time for the episode where Sybil dies--we can't even hang anymore. We go outside and let poor Tom give that Emmy-award-winning performance (which he unjustly didn't even get a cigar for) at poor Sybil's deathbed, and we go outside till it's all over. The SPCA commercial comes on with that heart-rending music, we sob volubly and consider getting a cat...or a dozen. Is there a name for this syndrome? I want to know.
All I can really tell you is whatever's the last thing you'd think about getting old, is the one thing that will surely happen to you. As my dear hubby always quotes, 'Gettin' old ain't for sissies!'
Till next time,
"You know you're getting old when all the names in your black book have M.D. after them." ~ Harrison Ford
"You know you're getting old when you get that one candle on the cake. It's like 'See if you can blow this out.'" ~ Jerry Seinfeld
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